minus the ‘to and fro.” They make a noise, but don’t speak. . . They cry ‘rroo. . . rroo. . . rroo!’. . . Try crying ‘rroo, rroo’. . . for six thousand years, or more, and you will see how few persons will think you an amusing man.”
“I shall not try it,” said Duclari; “but still I do not agree with you, that this motion is so strictly necessary. I give up the cataracts;—but a good picture can express much, I should think.”
“To be sure, but only for a moment. I will try to explain my meaning by an example. This is the 8th of February. . .”
“Certainly not,” said Verbrugge, “we are still in January. . .”
“No, no; it is the 8th of February 1587, and you are shut up in the Castle of Fotheringay.”
“I ?” asked Duclari, who thought that he had not quite understood the remark.
“Yes, you. You are weary, and try to get some variation. There in that wall is a hole;—it is too high for you to look through, but still that is what you desire to do. You place your table under it, and upon this table a three-legged stool, one of the legs being decidedly weak. You have seen at a fair an acrobat, who piled seven chairs one above another, and then placed himself on the top with his head downwards. Self-love and weariness press you to do something of the kind. You climb on your chair,
